


Musings of a sword

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, F/M, Happy Ending, If only it could speak, Oathkeeper (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: My name is Oathkeeper, and I’m here to tell you a story—a tale of how two knights, so like and unlike each other, fall deeper and deeper in love as time floats by. For years, they keep it to themselves, until one day they decide to rid themselves as well as us (particularly me) of the agony.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 20
Kudos: 57





	Musings of a sword

The first time I change hands is soon after I am born, when my first owner proudly passes me down to his son and heir. 

I’m probably boasting if I claim to be special, but Lord Tywin certainly seems to think so. With such reverence, he holds me, fond eyes admiring me more than once before he gifts me to the younger man, a Knight, who I hear, is now past his golden lion days. 

I ready myself for a new life, the hope that my new warrior would bring us both the glory we were born to achieve, the heir and his blade, united to fulfil our purpose and destiny.

“I don’t want Casterly Rock. I don’t want a wife, I don’t want children,” Ser Jaime makes his stand clear, handing me back, dashing my hopes to the ground.

Father and son begin to argue, and caught in their sparring, I don't know what to expect. 

Ser Jaime finally relents. I must thank his brother, though, for it is at his behest that he agrees to train, to wield me like I’m meant to be.

+++++

The second time I’m made to bid goodbye to my owner is when I’m gifted to a woman.

A woman, she is, but not one ordinary or any like the ones I’ve seen before. I’ve heard a lot about her—most of these radiant tales from Ser Jaime who never grows tired of narrating her exploits to his brother who seems to agree with me. He, too, has come to form an opinion there is more to it than the eye can perceive between the handsome knight and his lady acquaintance.

He teases, and Ser Jaime evades, but I can see it. I can sense there is something deeper here, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge yet.

Something within him lights up when she is around, as if she is the only bright ray in the bleakness he’s surrounded by.

Not once does he miss a chance to spend time with the lady, but seldom, they meet, and always in his tower or at the Godswood where no one stands to interrupt. What bothers him, I do not know. Whether it is his sister or the trepidation that this might lead to something else, I cannot say.

Why, then, does he invite the lady whenever he can?

I watch from afar as Lady Brienne examines the pages, reading out his meagre achievements. I can feel the pain and disappointment in his voice. I can sense the dejection from the tremors in his hand when he picks me up and lays me forth towards her.

“It’s yours,” he says, his voice softer than ever. And if I didn’t know better, I would think he’s parting with more than just me. I do know better, and I’m sure he’s letting go of a _lot_ more than me.

She refuses me, but he counters her objection, beating it down with his determination and the revelation of another priceless gift.

When she succumbs, time comes to a standstill. They’ve forgotten about me, about everything else around them. With eyes for none but each other, the knight and his lady stand absorbed in one another, blinking and blushing, each wanting to say something more, each wanting to read deeper into the other’s words.

I can see it in their gaze, can draw more from it than they themselves can.

A third gift, he bestows upon her—the trusted lad he insists she take on as a squire. They say he loves his sister. So why, then, did he come all this way for a woman who is supposed to be his adversary?

“Oathkeeper,” she names me, her eyes moistening as she looks deep into his. She means him or me— I’m not sure, but I can fairly assume what is in her mind. 

And he appears to have read it too, for in his eyes I can see a longing that begs her to stay back, pain and resignation and the realization that they will never cross paths again.

“Goodbye, Brienne,” he murmurs, her name rolling off his lips with passion and affection.

He doesn’t want to part with her.

Nor does she. The almost-tears in her eyes and the quivering of her chin—I can see it all written there. 

He loves her. That, I can see, in the way he follows her.

And she loves him. The look she has for him when she turns around for one last glance cannot make it plainer than it is. 

+++++

She looks upon me as a friend. Such care and such affection, she showers on me, gazing at me when no one is around, caressing the lion I wear upon my hilt, that I sometimes feel she sees him in me.

She feels _him_ when she touches me.

She blinks when the Blackfish brings up her connection with her handsome friend— pushing away the word _friend_ with a sense of urgency. 

He is more, that I know, and so does she. I can see it in the way the blinks, the colour on her cheeks that slowly starts to build up as she admires him surveying the siege from a distance.

“Tell him I have his sword,” she announces to his men. She rides up to him with the right only she, perhaps, has, speaks to him in the way she alone can.

A look at her, and he melts. He tries to keep his calm, to awaken some of his sarcasm, but one deep glance into her eyes, and he falters. Fails badly. She is his enemy and he knows he must stay his ground, but inside, he is crumbling.

She negotiates, he surrenders, for what else can he do? 

And when she hands me back to him, a hurt like an arrow has pierced his heart spreads across his face.

“It’s yours,” he says again, with more than just affection, this time. “It will always be yours.”

In his eyes, I can see the helplessness, the despair, the frustration that he has to keep to the other side of this table. In his voice I can feel his heart crying out to her, urging her not to evict it from its new residence.

 _I’m yours,_ he actually means to say, when he is talking about me.

And she accepts. Knowing his heart and I are all she can have of him, she relents.

With the tender hope that they meet again in better circumstances, they part company again. When she walks away, she tries to be steady, but inside, she is aching.

I know it. I can feel her pain. I have, for years.

+++++

Ser Brienne of Tarth, that’s what they call her now. I was there, bearing witness to Ser Jaime and my twin granting her the happiest moment of her life. I didn’t miss it when he looked deep into her eyes, telling her this went far beyond him knighting her.

As the night trudges on, he cannot take his eyes off her. I wonder if he’s wondering whether to come clean and tell her. I wish I can do something to intervene, to bring these two halves of the same soul together, for I cannot take more of this silent pining and wordless declarations of love.

I wish for them to live through this darkness. I wish they do more than just survive when this is all over. They belong together, for apart, they are akin to a flower without fragrance.

But the horn sounds, bringing their secret conversation to an end, bringing my musings to a close for now.

I’m ready to do my bit, and more than that. Here we are, my twin and I, my warrior knight and her knight by her side, fighting to defend the realm, standing by each other.

She wields me like no man probably would. She swings me around, cutting down her opponents like they’re dead tree trunks. Brave, she is, as she protects the innocents, fearing nothing—

Except for his life.

She charges into danger to keep him out of it. And what else can he do but the same for her?

Knights in command. Friends for life. 

And more… 

Yes, there can be more, they seem to realize, at last, laughing to their heart’s content for the first time ever after the long night has passed. He makes a move, his hand on hers, his eyes laying his feelings bare. She blushes, giggles like a girl, the woman behind the warrior showing her face for the first time since I’ve made her home mine.

I’m a mute spectator to the little playful game they indulge in, to the _accidentally-on-purpose_ question Tyrion poses, to how she’s taken aback by it, to the hurt brewing inside her when she storms away.

When her knight barges in, purpose, I can hear in his voice, albeit slightly shaken despite his dire attempt to seek confidence in a bottle.

They argue, about the game, about the North, and pointless, though it is, I grin in my mind. I know this is finally heading towards a fruitful conclusion. I can see that they’re one step short of tearing each others’ clothes off and I hope they do so soon.

“You sound quite jealous,” she points out breathily, when he brings up the wildling, and I feel like screaming out, _‘I knew it.’_

She pounces on his clothes, and I can see it coming. I’m filled with elation. And a mild envy towards humans. I wish I could express my joy and jump up and down. 

When he kisses her, I know this is the end. And the beginning.

No more aching and pining. No more soulful eyes, no more hurting hearts.

At last, true love prevails.

At last, I can relax. I close my mind and drift away from all thoughts, from the sights and sounds of lust and so much more.

+++++ 

“It’s yours,” Ser Brienne says, handing me fondly to the young woman who looks exactly like her but for her eyes. She has her father’s bright green eyes. 

“This sword isn’t just a sword,” Ser Jaime gushes, like me, recalling, perhaps, all that we have been through together. “It tells stories of your mother’s courage—” he reaches out for his wife’s hand “—of how proud she has done us all.”

“More than anything else, it is a symbol of our love,” Lady Brienne adds, eyes shining with love for her husband, and I completely agree with her. Sometimes, I wonder, would they have come together had it not been for me?

Lady Joanna runs a finger down my spine just like her mother did once, then looks up at the knights. “I will not let you down.”

I know I am, once again, in able hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Do let me know what you think.


End file.
